Black Lagoon: A Novel From The Oregon Files
by M.K. Kozloff
Summary: This is my first Fan Fiction so please go easy on me. It's a crossover from Clive Cussler's "Oregon Files" series, and Rei Hiroe's "Black Lagoon"..Duh..there are some typos that I didn't catch till it was put up. Please try to enjoy.


Chapter 1

The Harbor Master of the Thailand port city of Roanapour looked over the helm of his small vessel in disgust of the miserable eyesore of a ship that floated just outside his harbor, flying the Iranian flag. The freighter dwarfed his 15 foot outboard at an overall length of five hundred and sixty feet. Its main superstructure sat just aft of amidships, giving her three holds forward and two aft. Even though the freighter wasn't moving it bellowed large plumes of black oily smoke, probably because the ancient engines would not fire again if they were allowed to be shut off. As he got closer, he could tell she was not carrying anything in her holds by how high the water line was at her hull.

The freighter had stopped by request of the Harbor Master because the channel that protected the eastern harbor was narrow and shallow. It would be difficult for a large vessel to steam through the opening between the peninsula and the large towering rock outcropping that a decaying Buddha statue called home. The channel's deepest part was 30 feet at high tide after all, and since the captain reported that they were only there to obtain provisions and to repair a malfunctioning radar system, they needed to gain access to the small port.

The Harbor Master eased back on the throttle and let his vessel drift closer to the large hull that was primarily a scabrous green, with patches of other dissimilar colors where the crew had run out of the primary shade. Streaks of rust ran from deck drains and her scuppers, and large metal plates were welded to her sides to sure up any structural deficiencies. Her large derricks were as dilapidated as the rest of the ship.

After looking on in his disgust he reached for a hand held megaphone and keyed the trigger. "To the vessel the _Oregon_; this is the Harbor master of the port of Roanapour, I'm here to guide your ship through the passage. Do I have permission to come aboard?"

He waited a short time before someone walked out onto the freighters wing bridge with their own megaphone. The bearded, white man brought the megaphone up and replied to his hail, "Good afternoon, sir. Just a sec, we'll throw a rope ladder over for you."

"Thank you."

A few minutes later and the harbor master was ascending a crudely build rope ladder to the ships main deck, that was cluttered with broken machinery and trash. After tying a tow line, he was greeted by two men, a large black man and the one he recognized as the man with the megaphone, the men's appearance reflected that of the their ship. The man smiled flashing his yellowed teeth, then spoke sticking his hand out for a crude handshake, "Welcome aboard, I'm Captain Smith."

The Harbor Master suppressed his distaste, and shook the man's hand lightly. "Thank you Captain, now if you may, could you please escort me to the bridge so I can get you to your mooring in the Harbor."

"Sure, right this way."

The Harbor Master had seen his fair share of vessels, and this one was in his top three worst. The interior looked as if it hadn't been cleaned since the day it was launched. The linoleum was cracked and peeling, and dust bunnies that had grown to be 'dust rhinos' littered every corner. The inside was only a few degrees cooler from the outside due to a barely functioning air conditioner. Finally they entered the wheelhouse from the dimly light corridors. He was not the least bit relieved to see it however. Taking his spot behind the wheel, he began guiding the freighter through the channel. He kept his focus on his work and not the fact that the bridge reeked of cigarettes or the torn, green shag carpet that had stains from God only knows what. The Captain stayed uncomfortably close to him, at times the man's protruding gut would bump him, but he figured as long as his beard didn't touch him he was fine.

Finally the ship was at its predestinated mooring next to a smaller Russian freighter that was named the _Maria Zeleska, _and the Harbor Master made a hasty retreat to his own boat, and sped off to his building on the waterfront. When it came time for the freighter to leave he would get his associate to do it. He, after all, had made a mental note to never step foot on '_The Oregon_' for the rest of his life.

Captain Smith watched from the starboard wing bridge as the 15 foot skiff speed off to the distant side of the harbor. Turning slowly to the two other men on the bridge, he tugged at his beard, ripping it off, and pulled the wig on his head off to revile a blonde, clean shaven man with bright blue eyes. The other men smiled as they removed their disguises. After removing a set of false teeth Captain Smith addressed one of them. "Well, Linc, I doubt we'll ever see him again."

The large black man smiled, "I doubt anyone would after how close you stood to his rear, Cabrillo," He said, letting out a chuckle.

"I'll have to tell Nixon what a wonderful disguise he makes, but for now let's get ready for our meeting. The harbor master sure took his time getting out to us."

The men descended two decks to a secret elevator hidden as one of the disgusting bulkheads. A few seconds later the polished-brass elevator doors opened to a completely different ship. Unlike the above deck, this part of the ship and just about the rest of the lower decks where in pristine condition and the decor would remind one more of a luxury yacht than it would a dilapidated freighter destined for the scrap yard.

Captain Smith/Juan Cabrillo entered his quarters, which resembled an English manor house, and removed his fat suit that he had been wearing and quickly washed off any makeup used in his disguise. He changed to his usual attire of a light button down shirt and khaki cargo pants, and headed toward the bow and entered the Operations Center.

This was the real _Oregon_. The _Oregon's _appearance was little more than a façade, used to detour any would be Ship Inspector, Harbor Master, or pirate, so the ship could perform its true function as a state of the art Intelligence gathering, and on more than one occasion, Battleship. The real helm of the ship was located here, guided by a state-of-the-art GPS navigation system; the harbor master was only in control of a dead helm.

Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo was the founder and chairman of the "Corporation," a military contracting company taking on 'black operations' from many NATO countries. Their major customer however was the Central Intelligence Agency, in Langley Falls, Virginia. The CIA used his corporation because of its mobility and their excellent service record and ethics, unlike that of Executive Outcomes, or Xe Services LLC. Cabrillo's crew consisted of almost all former US military SPEC Ops, and Intelligence personnel. Cabrillo himself was a former CIA field agent and had much experience in Saudi Arabia and could speak fluent Arabic, until being shafted by the powers that be. He soon quit and used money he had taken from several enemy accounts and put into an off shore account over the years to purchase a former lumber transport vessel. He had used it for many years before it was severely damaged in an operation helping National Underwater and Marine Agency's then Special Projects Director, Dirk Pitt. No matter the setback, the corporation bought a larger vessel and more weapon systems.

Their last contract was with the CIA in a SAR mission (search and rescue) in which the US Secretary of State had been kidnapped by a group of Libyan terrorists. They had fulfilled their contract by finding her downed plane just inside Libya a few miles east of the Tunisian border. However, the corporation often took things into their own hands and saved her from a televised execution on a Libyan Frigate loyal to the terrorists.

This new contract was also from the CIA. Juan was a little weary about this one though. Usually his contact in the CIA, Langston Overholt, would give them all the data he needed and was clear with the objective. However this time, they needed to contact an Agency field agent to get briefed on what the situation was. He was familiar with these types of meetings; it only meant that Overholt didn't know the entire situation himself.

"Cabrillo, you ready?" said a short Chinese man in similar clothes.

"I am. We're just waiting for Linc. How about you Eddie?"

"Almost, we just need to swing by the armory. Murphy says this place is a real cesspool."

"I want you to find me one place in Thailand that isn't."

They let out a brief chuckle and Franklin Lincoln entered. The former Navy SEAL filled the entire door.

"We're gonna be late if we keep telling jokes." Linc quipped.

At that Juan, Linc and Eddie Seng proceeded to another deck on the ship and grabbed their handguns, all deciding it would be best if everyone had 9 millimeters. Eddie grabbed a Sig Sauer P226, and so did Juan but he also packed a second, more powerful FN Five SeveN. Linc grabbed what he was most familiar with, the civilian model of the Berretta M9, known as a 92F. All tucked the flat black weapons into the back of their waist bands, along with a couple of extra magazines, just in case, and pulled their shirts over to conceal them.

From there, the trio went to an aft hold where the cooperation kept their inflatable boats and jet skis. They had a launch ramp covered in Teflon and a door that allowed them to launch to the water line. There they were greeted my Max Hanley and Linda Ross, the corporation's president and vice president. Ross greeted them first. "I'm not too sure the hazards on this exercise so I'm gonna let you take a sat-phone." She said handing a large phone with a long, thick antenna to Cabrillo

"Thanks Linda," Juan said taking the phone and putting it in a cargo pocket on his pants.

"Now Lang didn't say anything about who you were going to meet, just where and when," Hanley said next, "so check in once you get there and after you leave and every half hour you're on shore."

"Max you worry too much," Linc said, "We can more than handle ourselves. We've been in worse places."

"Well, if you do get into trouble, just give us a call and we'll have Gunderson fly the MD520 over for a quick extraction."

"Our GPS trackers still work, so even if we don't check in you'll know where we are. We gotta get going though." Cabrillo replied.

A few minutes later the three were on shore and watched as the deckhand motored the small zodiac away from the pier and back to _The Oregon_.

"So what's the name of the place we're to meet this person at, Juan?" asked Seng.

"Apparently it's some bar called the _Yellowflag_."

* * *

After a light walk through what Juan thought was the busiest Red Light district he had ever seen, they arrived at the bar marked on their map. Juan made a quick call to the Command Center, as requested and the three entered the bar. The three received stares from some of the patrons that recognized they weren't locals or regulars, but none of them frightened them. Juan could tell that everyone was armed with some type of weapon. Cabrillo could only compare the place to a saloon from a Clint Eastwood movie. He felt glad that the team had decided to go armed. They simply took a seat the bar to wait.

"What'd you want?" the bartender asked in a gruff irritated voice.

Seng recognized him as a Vietnamese man, "he'll order first," he said motioning to Juan. Cabrillo gave a quick annoyed glance at Eddie and then ordered a scotch. Linc just had a beer, and Eddie had some whiskey. All three barely touched their drinks.

Soon after the group had received their drinks two other people entered, a man and a woman. Juan could tell by the way the bar subtly reacted to their appearance that they knew these people. Both were of Asian descent, but while the woman was of Chinese or Korean descent, the man was Japanese. The Chinese woman wore short cut off jeans with a web belt and a short tight black tank top, which really didn't leave much to the imagination. Under her arms where holstered two pistols. Her comrade looked to be her polar opposite. He wore a white collar shirt tucked into dark semi-formal pants, a tie hung loosely around his neck, and he didn't appear to be armed. The two sat at the other end of the bar. None of the men had looked directly at them, trying to look as if they were simply enjoying some shore leave.

"You think they're our contact?" Linc whispered to Juan and Eddie.

"I don't know," Juan said.

"I'll go find out," Eddie said getting up from his stool. Eddie was born in New York City's Chinatown to Chinese immigrant parents and had learned Mandarin before he learned English. He had done well in school, and no matter how difficult things got for him and his family he stayed trouble with the law and eventually worked for the CIA in China for several risky operations before suffering to the same fate as Juan Cabrillo.

He made an indirect route to the other group. Casually, he sat next to the Chinese woman. The other two had taken notice to his presents and sat staring at him in silence. Eddie finally broke their silence.

"I'm from the _Oregon,_ are you our contact?" He asked in Mandarin.

The two people stared at him blankly for a short time before the woman took a gulp of her Bacardi. She set the glass roughly on the bar and met his gaze again and spoke.

"I only speak fucking English, asshole." She said with obvious irritation in her voice, "you better get lost, asshole."

Eddie was a bit surprised at the woman's brazenness, but quickly regained his composure.

"Forgive me, but I was only wondering if you were our contact."

This time it was the woman's turn to be surprised.

"Oh, you must be the buyers that that whore Eda was talkn' about," Eddie made a look, and the woman continued, "Yeah, she said three guys were comin' in at about this time for her."

"She couldn't come herself?" Eddie inquired.

"Nope, that lazy bitch asked me if I could give you guys a ride to the church."

Eddie looked at her expectantly.

"And I told her that the services of the _Lagoon Company_ ain't free," at that she put her hand out to indicate that she wanted them to pay.

"Revy," the Japanese man muttered to the woman so that Eddie couldn't hear, "Eda's already paying us as it is."

"You don't think I know that, Rock?" she replied in an aggravated whisper, "You gotta get it through your thick skull that there's nothing wrong with a little bonus."

Seng motioned to Juan and Linc, and they came.

"What's going on? Are they our contact?" Linc asked

"No, they're to take us to our contact."

"I see," Juan said, "Our contact probably wants a more secure place. This bar looks like it's seen more than its fair share of gun fights."

"Yeah and the people aren't exactly the friendliest bunch either." Linc added

"She's trying to squeeze money from us," Eddie said under his breath, "they didn't realize I could hear them but they've already got paid for this ride."

"Should we trust them?" Juan asked

"Not the Chinese woman. The Japanese guy we can count on."

"Okay," Juan agreed, then addressed the other two bar patrons, "We'll pay you, but only by company check and after we get to our destination. One hundred dollars sound good?"

The woman smiled, "Yes that should be plenty."

* * *

After the five people squeezed into the red 1965 Pontiac GTO, the Japanese man took the wheel. Twisting the key in the ignition and the 360 horsepower 4-barrel engine roared to life. The Japanese man had introduced himself as 'Rock,' and the Chinese woman as 'Revy.' Unlike his partner Rock was actually a pleasant guy. And they casually talked about how he had begun his career as a salary man turned buccaneer.

Juan despised pirates, but he had to admit that these people weren't like any pirates he'd encountered in the rest of the area surrounding Malaysia and the Philippines, or the pirates off the coast of Somalia. If anything, this group reminded him more of a smaller _Oregon._ However, he and the other two remained silent about their vessel; to Rock and Revy they were merely some new comers that were here for an illegal trade.

The Pontiac rumbled across a rusty bridge and all the _Oregon's _members took note of the hangman's noose that hung on the above support truss. Juan knew it as a symbol that the land was that of death. Rock pressed down on the accelerator and the Pontiac easily began to cruse across the hard pact dirt road that cut through the marshy rice patty field at 80 miles an hour. The three men in the back seat began to feel the effects of the mid afternoon sun's rays. Even with the windows open the rushing air did little to cool them down. Juan felt irritation from the fact that Revy was a chain smoker and all the smoke blew into his face. He knew she knew she was doing it, but he remained silent about it.

They soon turned onto a smaller dirt road and Juan's sat-phone beeped. He answered. It was Max Hanley.

"What's going on, Cabrillo?" he asked, Juan could tell the worry in his voice.

"Our contact arranged for us to meet someone to take us to her."

"'Her?'" Hanley repeated.

"Yes, see what you can find out about an Eda," Juan requested

"That it?" Hanley asked

"Oh, and have Murph and Stone look into a company called _Lagoon_ too while they're at it. I'll give you a call when we're done."

"Very well," Hanley said as he hung up the receiver in the Control Center.

"What was that about?" Rock asked.

"Just checking in with Mom," Linc and Eddie smiled at the Chairman's joke.

Moments later and the GTO had pulled up in front of an old Mission. Juan judged it was built sometime in the 1860s but it was probably much older than that. They all piled out and Revy lead the way to the main Chapel and tried to pull the handle to the massive oak doors.

"Damn it, they locked it again," She spat as she began to bang heavily on the door with her combat boot. "Open the fucking door Eda!" she shouted as she continued to assault the door. She was too busy bashing the door to notice a nun come around the side of the chapel. The men noticed her presents right away as the nun stood looking at the other woman through her dark sunglasses with her hands on her hips. The group from the _Oregon _simply looked at the nun in her short sleeve black and white outfit, a few strands of blonde hair showing from under her habit.

"Hey! Do you have to attack the chapel door every time you come here, 'Two Hands?'" The nun said getting Revy's attention.

"Fuck you; I got those people you wanted," Revy replied then turned to Juan, "I'll take that check now."

"You still have to get us back to the harbor," Juan said calmly.

"No, I only had to get you to the 'destination.'"

"I see how this works. How 'bout we pay you 200 when you get us back."

Revy smiled wickedly at the money she had just extorted from the foreigners.

"Deal."

"Just wait here 'till we're done."

The team from the _Oregon_ turned and followed the nun. She escorted them to a side door to one of the living quarters of the mission. As soon as they entered the building the nun removed the habit from her head, allowing her long blonde hair fall freely around her shoulders, and exhaled loudly. She allowed their eyes adjust to the dimmer confines of the building before speaking.

"So your Langston's friends from Oregon."

"Actually our ship is named _Oregon_," Cabrillo corrected.

The woman removed her sunglasses to reveal startling blue eyes that matched Juan's own.

"I see. You don't seem like the typical group of hired guns that this town has seen."

"Well, we're all former US Intelligence and DoD operatives."

"Did Langley even tell you what yer doing here?"

"No, we were only told to meet you at the bar for a quick briefing. Overholt said you'd tell us everything we needed to know."

"Jesus!" she exclaimed, "Langley doesn't tell anybody shit anymore."

"I take it it's a big deal," Juan said suggestively.

"You have no idea."

* * *

"So what do make of them, Revy?" Rock asked as Revy sat up from the reclined passenger seat.

"The fuck you mean?" she asked as she flicked the butt of her cigarette out the passenger window and lit a new one.

"They seemed awfully interested in our company, but kept dodging our questions about themselves."

"Probably cause they thought you were too nosey," she scoffed as she lay back, closing her eyes.

"And Eda's story about them being part of a mafia doesn't make any sense."

"If anything Eda says makes sense."

"Of the many things I've learned from this place is that gangs tend to stick with their own nationality. I've never seen any Italians working for 'Hotel Moscow' or any Chinese working with the cartels. They don't because they need to be able to trust each other and an outsider always starts the trouble."

"I told you that."

"That's what led me to the conclusion that their like us."

"Hmm. They're armed, so they couldn't have come by plane so the only way they could come is by ship. If you ask me they're all ex-military. Looks like those US Army guys weren't the last group to come here after all."

"Do you think there'll be trouble?"

"Rock, when has there not been trouble when outsiders come here?"

"Good point," He sighed to himself as he leaned on the GTO's steering wheel.


End file.
